Pairs
by lockheedelektra
Summary: Four pairs of people. Eight individuals who could not be more different, yet find themselves tossed together under the strangest of circumstances. Can these eight people help each other find that which is lacking in their hearts? More info inside
1. First Impressions

Hey everyone! Well, this idea has been bouncing around in my head for quite some time now, so I decided to give it a try. The pairings are as follows:

Vash x Meryl

Wolfwood x Millie

Legato x OC

Knives x OC

Now before you all start screaming at me about being a brainless fangirl and whatnot, let me explain. Legato and Knives are some screwed-up individuals. Their lives have sucked thus far. They deserve to be with somebody so they can see that there's a good side in life.

This is the part where you all say, "But what about Knives and Millie together?" Well, that's fine and dandy if you're following the anime's plotline. This fic, my good friend, happens to be AU. That means no dead Wolfwood. The packin' priest is here to stay, and he and Millie will be happy together, damn it! As for Legato, I think he should get a second chance at life, love, and happiness, as stated above.

In short, if you don't like OC pairings, walk away. Now. When I'm just a speck on the horizon, you'll be safe.

-LE (lockheedelektra)

* * *

On the barren, unforgiving deserts of the planet of Gunsmoke, people everywhere whisper of one man. One legendary gunman is told of in hushed voices, as though to speak of him too confidently is to bring his wrath upon their household. One man remains immortal in the stories of generations, the tall man in the red coat--as skilled as the devil himself despite having never taken a life. The blond man in sunglasses, so fast he's just a crimson blur on the horizon.

Yet the stories do not mention the man in black who traveled with him, the priest who swung a giant cross around like it was a matchstick. The stories do not mention the man's twin brother, tall and blond like him, but lacking all his mercy. Nor do they mention his brother's servant, the handsome man with blue hair who had lost all hope in humanity, nor the two brave insurance girls who constantly sought the man in red, nor the two healers who had made it their business to save those who needed saving.

So I shall make it my business to tell you the _whole_ story.

* * *

Vash the Stampede was not a difficult man to please. No, all he really needed in life was the glorious, circular, sugar-coated doughy deliciousness of doughnuts. Was there ever any dessert so perfect, so versatile? He could have powdered, glazed, jelly filled, chocolate frosted with sprinkles, anyone? Yes, indeed, all he needed in life were sweet, sweet doughnuts. And maybe a little love and peace to top things off. 

"Bonjour, madame! J'taime!" He exclaimed as he crammed a strawberry frosted doughnut into his mouth. There was a pause, and the blonde man seemed to be holding back an explosion inside his mouth. He finally swallowed, and tears began streaming down his face in sheer and utter joy. "It's beautiful! The most wonderful thing I ever tasted!"

From his seat next to Vash on the bench, a black-haired man regarded the blonde with a wary eye, doubting that the man in the red coat was still sane. He sighed and simultaneously exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke, pushing up his dark sunglasses. "For supposedly being the devil's right hand, you're a complete dork, you know that?"

"Hey, hey! Don't be hatin', Wolfwood!"

The black-haired man rolled his onyx eyes, but a smile played on his lips. Vash continued to scarf down the doughnuts like a starved wild man and Wolfwood kicked back, smoking languidly. Sometimes he still found it hard to believe that the kind-hearted man who was accident-prone and had the worst luck he'd ever seen was truly the unstoppable gunman that was now feared by the entire planet. But it was hard to deny that trouble followed the affable, spiky-haired Vash wherever he went, and trouble only followed someone when there was a damn good reason.

So why, one might ask, was the rather unorthodox priest, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, following him around?

Maybe he was just addicted to trouble. Nicholas cherised the small moments in life, simple moments that let you know that somewhere on this planet, things were going all right. But to have nothing but those simple moments was still too boring for him. Life needed adventure, it needed excitement, it needed fun. Maybe when he got a few gray hairs and wrinkles he'd settle down in a nice little town, like Persephone, but for now the call of danger was too great.

Wolfwood scowled when an upside-down Vash appeared in his field of vision. The gunman's sea-green eyes gazed right past Wolfwood's sunglasses and into his eyes. That was another thing about Vash; he had the undeniable ability to apparently read a person's mind by looking into their eyes.

"Are you okay? You look worried."

"Just thinkin'. Nothing big."

Vash held his gaze for a few more seconds, then broke into a child-like grin. "Okay!" He yelled, nearly splitting Wolfwood's eardrums. The man in red straightened himself as Wolfwood checked that his ears weren't bleeding. "I think we should probably reserve a room at an inn soon. It'll be dark in a couple of hours."

In response, Wolfwood stood and hoisted the giant cross that was leaning against the bench onto his black-clad shoulder. "Sounds good. No late-night partying tonight for you, then?"

Vash retained his wide, cheery grin. "I never said anything about no parties! You're so serious, Wolfwood."

"And you're like a fourteen-year-old on Speed."

* * *

"Maybe it's him?" 

"No, he's too short."

"Is it him?"

"His hair's jet-black, it can't be him."

"What about him?"

"No! He hasn't got a speck of red on him."

"What about that one, Meryl?"

"Millie! It's not Vash, already!"

"Are you sure? He's tall and blonde and he's got a red coat on."

Meryl turned her gray eyes from her friend's clear blue ones and looked to where the taller girl's finger was pointing. Sure enough, a tall blonde man with a red coat was walking right past them, closely followed by a man in black carrying a gigantic cross. Meryl was dumbstruck for a few brief moment, but she shook her head and lightly slapped her cheeks to come back to the real world.

"All right! Now that we've got sight of him, we just need to follow him and get him alone so we can aprehend him. But Millie..."

Meryl turned back to her friend, a businesslike glint in her eyes. No one could say that Meryl Stryfe did not take her work seriously. "We need to be very cautious. We're dealing with a dangerous gunman who could probably wipe out this entire town if he wanted to. Destruction follows this man everywhere, so we can't make a single mistake if we don't want to get caught up in it."

Millie, seemingly oblivious to the danger, gave a cheery salute. "No need to worry, Meryl! I can be very stealthy when I want to be, you'll see. Let's do our best, okay?"

At the sight of her friend and partner's smiling face, Meryl relaxed and smiled back. Something about Millie's presence was so warm and welcoming that even total strangers took to her on the spot. Despite her height and strength, Millie was as sweet as could be, albeit slightly air-headed. Meryl, by contrast, was petite and quick-witted, someone who didn't mess around when there was business to be done. Before Millie had been assigned as her partner, Meryl's social life could be defined in one word: nonexistent. But the taller, brown-haired woman had slowly made her open up to people, and now Meryl was learning to relax and enjoy the fun times in life.

Still, she could be terribly prickly to people she didn't know. Often times she yearned to be more like Millie, so happy and open to everyone around her, but Meryl had been brought up very differently than Millie and was quite wary of strangers. Besides, she still wanted to retain some of her personality--like responsibility and determination during a case. Meryl Stryfe always got her man. No one could deny that, either.

"Meryl, he's getting away. Shouldn't we follow him?"

"Millie! Why didn't you say that sooner!"

* * *

_Humans. _Humans were disgusting. 

They tortured their own kind, made an official system of killing each other off. If they weren't hurting others, they were hurting the earth, selfishly sucking up the resources for their own uses without a second thought to the planet, or even the generations that would come after them that would be in need of what they greedily took.

Humans revolted him. And by that same token, he revolted himself in that he used to be one.

The blonde man sneered down at the city before him from high atop a cliff. He had managed to save himself from the drudgery of humanity. He would never engage in the imperfect foolishness that the humans did. The senseless emotions that they posessed kept them from perfection, the ridiculous notion that they were superior beings.

He would show them what a truly superior being was, with his brother by his side.

"Master Knives."

Knives turned his head to look behind him, his indigo eyes focusing on a man kneeling behind him. The man's face was not visible, but his royal blue hair and the torture device on his white coat were plain to see. Knives smirked. If he was reporting back so soon, he must have some good news.

"You have permission to speak, Legato." He said, turning his attention back to the city. Knives felt no reason to make eye contact with one of his servants, someone who was beneath him. True, Legato had transcended humanity under Knives's guidance, and the blond did not consider him complete scum like he did the rest of the human race. . . but that was all. Once his plan was complete, there would be no need for the blue-haired man. If he could manage to bring himself up to Knives's level before his plan finished, then perhaps he could keep him around. Legato had been a dutiful servant, after all.

"Vash the Stampede has been spotted in Hermes. What are your orders, Master?"

A smirk grew on Knives's face, exposing a small bit of pearly white teeth. "Well done, Legato. We shall pay my dear brother a visit tonight."

"As you wish, Master."

Legato remained kneeling, his eyes to the ground as Knives pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully past the blue-haired man. Once Legato was sure that his master was a suitable distance ahead of him, he stood, opening his eyes to reveal blazing gold irises. He turned and followed his master, making sure not to walk too closely to him. He knew that would displease his master, and Legato did not want to displease Knives. The blue-haired man was eternally obidient to Knives, as the blonde had taught him the only truths in his life: that humans were useless, and that he must strive to be better than the plague called homo sapien.

Since he had met Knives, Legato had been amazed by the blond man's presence and power. Knives was just so utterly confident, even charismatic at times, that all thoughts that his master was in reality a cruel bastard had been banished from his mind. He was willing to follow Knives to the edge of this godforsaken planet.

Now Vash the Stampede was the only impediment to his master's plan.

* * *

"So, you say you heal using herbal remedies?" 

The old man in a bowler hat looked skeptically at the rows of plants on the kiosk before him. Most of them were leafy green, so much so that he doubted they were real. Some of them even had flowers, for goodness sake!

"Yes indeed, sir! You'd be surprised how many helpful herbs grow out in that barren desert! In fact, I am the best _curandera_ this side of May city! I also do spells for any occasion; luck, love, health, you name it! I even have some amulets and talismans that can help banish evil spirits around the house!" The girl attending the kiosk said rapidly, hazel eyes sparking with excitement behind her glasses. Her short brown hair was unkempt, yet feathered around her face nicely. She wore a dirt-stained apron over her regular clothes. The kiosk that she stood inside was a humble size, forged of precious wood that she had saved up for for about five years. The sign on the top read, "Miss Gypsy Dragonfly's Herbal Remedies and Spells for Every Occasion".

"Oh? I've never heard of you."

"Well, I'll certainly have to work on that! Tell me, good sir, have you anything that ails you?"

"Hmm. . ." The old man put his hand to his chin, deep in thought. "Well. . . my heart has been giving me trouble lately. . . faltering a bit, you know?"

"I've got just the thing, sir. Hold on a minute, please."

The girl disappeared behind the plant-filled counter of the kiosk, revealing a shorter girl standing just outside the kiosk. This girl had shoulder-length golden blonde hair with dark roots and brown eyes. The girl stared at the man for a few seconds, like she was analyzing him. "He needs something for his joints, too. Arthritis." She said, tilting her head downward towards the girl who was apparently Gypsy Dragonfly.

Gypsy popped up two seconds later, holding a paper bag that had the top rolled down to hold in its contents. "Here you are, sir. The teabags are foxglove, for your heart. If you drink a cup of that tea every day for about a week, you should be all right. The lotion is for your arthritis; if you rub it on the areas where you're having trouble it'll be a big help."

"Thank you, then. How much?"

"Ten double dollars, sir."

The old man pulled out his wallet and handed Gypsy the money, then walked off, holding the bag of remedies under his arm. Gypsy sighed and rubbed her forehead, obviously trying to soothe a stress-induced headache.

"That old man's only our third customer, EJ! We've been out here since six in the morning!"

"You shouldn't give up hope." The blond girl said. "We'll catch on, you'll see. The people in small towns know us real well, at least."

Gypsy smiled at her friend and removed her hand from her head. "You've been a great help, EJ. I'd have given up on this ages ago if you weren't around. The customers love you." Gypsy gave a snort of laughter. "Maybe the sign should say, 'Miss Gypsy Dragonfly's Herbal Remedies and Miss Emma Jayne LeValley's Psychic Readings!"

* * *

Preview for the next chapter:

**Unity**

Opinions. Ideals. As long as human beings have been alive, they have formulated these for themselves. And as long as humans have free will, they will create different opinions and ideals that will eventually clash in a battle of wills. It's in the aftermath of that collision that souls are damaged and hearts abused. The victors are assured that they alone are right, and shove the ideals of others aside to impose their own. But part of the beauty of free will lies in the difference of opinion. To truly appreciate life, one must accept the ideals and opinions of others, and learn to appreciate them for who they are. Only then can we recognize that though our thoughts and decisions may be different, there is an eternal degree of unity that binds our fates as one.

* * *

So, whaddaya think? Not bad for a first chapter, huh? I really like the sage/poetic previews in the show, so I decided to keep them here. I think it's cool, but if you don't like 'em, tell me in a review. Feedback, people! You alone have the power to make this work!


	2. The Unity that Binds Us

I cannot apologize enough for taking so freakin' long to update. There were a lot of events at school, family gatherings, writer's block, and just bad luck that kept me from completing this chapter. There's alsothat Ihad to do research on any plants thatLynne (this will make sense later) would have, as well as find a way to work the whole 'unity' concept into the chapter. But I still took way, _way_ too long. So I apologize.

For some reason, I remember this one time when I read a certain fic for the first time... it was wonderful, with good characterization and plot development, no one was OOC (which was hard to do for this particular show), and the writing itself was beautiful. By the time I got to the seventh chapter, I was in love with the fic.

It turns out the seventh chapter was an author's note, saying that she had given up on the fic and would be discontinuing it.

It was at that moment that I swore that I would never give up on any story that I started. It's not fair to the readers, and it's not fair to the writer, who invested so much time in something, only to throw it away. I will never, _ever_ do that.

On that note... DISCLAIMER: I do not own Trigun.

And so, I **finally** give you the second chapter of _Pairs._

* * *

"Um, excuse me, miss...?" 

The girl at the desk of the Stanton Inn looked up from the paperwork she was grudgingly filling out (something or other about health codes--honestly!) to see a tall man with blonde, spiky hair standing on the other side of the desk. He certainly seemed like a character, with that long red coat of his. It had so many buttons, it must have taken forever to put it on. His friend was a sight to see, too, with that huge cross he'd casually slung over his shoulder and the sunglasses indoors. Still, her company training took over, and she put on a 'friendly and inviting smile', just as the instructional video had said.

"Hello, sir. How can I help you?"

Vash's sea-green eyes sparkled as he noticed how absolutely _adorable_ that girl looked when she smiled! Why, she had to be the cutest thing since the first little black puppy came into the world! He cleared his throat and made sure to drop his voice an octave or so when he spoke next.

"Miss, the only thing I could ever desire in this world is to see your beautiful smile again. I would run a thousand miles and cross a hundred deserts without food or water, if only to see your smile. For you I would face countless enemies with only a single bullet in my gun, I would protect you with my life, if only so I could see you smile again. The only thing that could ever give me more happiness than your smile is to know your name."

Damn. Maybe that was _too_ friendly and inviting.

Luckily for her, the man's friend shoved him aside and took the man in red's place in front of the desk. "We'd like a room, please." The black-haired man said, narrowing his eyes at the blonde, who was shifting from a sheepish grin to a confused expression. "Only one room? Not a even suite or anything?"

"Yes, only one room! You blew the last of our extra cash on those damn _doughnuts_!"

"But I was hungry. . ."

Wolfwood ignored Vash's protests and turned back to the poor girl behind the desk, who was looking at him like a lost little lamb. No wonder Vash tried to hit on her; he was a sucker for anything cute.

"As I was saying, just one room. The cheapest one possible."

"Um. . . okay. . . how long will you be staying?"

"Two nights at the most." Wolfwood continued to pay no heed to Vash's wheedling of, "You're so stingy, Wolfwood!" as the girl handled him a room key labeled '209'. The man in black muttered a "Thanks" and headed for the elevator, Vash following close behind. The blonde man paused long enough in his ramblings to give a wave to the girl at the desk before the doors closed; she gave a pained smile.

Oh, it was going to be a _long_ two days with him around. . .

* * *

Meryl's eye twitched as she and Millie watched the two men enter the elevator from the hallway that branched off the lobby. Her partner and she had managed to get to the inn before the man who they thought to be Vash the Stampede and his friend did, but now she was beginning to wonder if that 200-yarz sprint was worth the effort. No, she _knew _it wasn't worth the effort. Why? Because: 

There was absolutely no way in hell that was Vash the Stampede.

"Oh, darn it! If he and that man with the cross are sharing a room, we can't get him alone to catch him!" Millie said, her face settling into a pout that would look too childish on anyone else. Somehow Millie pulled it off.

Meryl sighed deeply and rubbed her temples, trying to subdue the pressure that was building behind her eyes. "Millie, that can't be him. It just can't be."

"Why not? He fits the description just fine."

"Vash the Stampede is a legendary gunman!" Meryl snapped, frustration nearing its boiling point. "He's destroyed the city of July and countless other small towns! He's a destructive madman! He's so dangerous that he can't be allowed to walk freely anymore! Vash the Stampede isn't a man--he's a force of nature! And _that_," Meryl pointed viciously to the elevator that the two men had taken, "is _not him_!"

Meryl heaved for breath after her rant, hand still pointing to the golden-doored elevator. Millie blinked her bright blue eyes twice, then smiled cheerily. "Well, even if he does turn out not to be Mr. Vash, we'll at least know that we tried! We might even get a lead on the real Mr. Vash!"

The shorter, black-haired woman hung her head. Why, oh _why_ did Millie have to look on the bright side, even when the bright side wasn't so much a side as it was a pinprick? It was so infuriating at times!

But still. . . Millie had a point. Beating herself up for finding another dead end wasn't going to do anything. She had to keep looking forward if she really wanted to make progress. So what if this wasn't Vash the Stampede? He was out there somewhere, and Meryl would find him if it was the last thing she did.

Steeling herself, Meryl lifted up her head and clenched her fist decisively. "You're right, Millie. We've got to try."

The shorter girl pivoted on her booted heel, her spotless white cloak billowing behind her as she marched down the hallway to the elevator. Millie joined her once the doors opened, a big smile still on her face. Meryl had the sudden image of the two of them standing side-by-side: a big girl with a bright smile and a small one with the death-glare of determination fixed on her features. The doors opened with a 'ding' and the girls looked down the hall just in time to see a flicker of red disappear into a room.

"That must be him. Let's go." Meryl said, reaching inside her cloak to grasp a derringer. Originally, the small, lightweight guns had been the only thing that Meryl could use. But even though she had built up her strength considerably, derringers had become the only things that felt right in her hand.

The black-haired Bernardelli Insurance agent crept down the hall on tiptoe; she was surprised to find that she could barely hear Millie's footsteps behind her. Apparently the big girl's claim about her stealth wasn't an empty one. Which amazed Meryl, since Millie's weapon of choice was a large stungun that fired crossbolts with two-foot long arms.

They reached the door of room 209, and Meryl rapped sharply upon it with her knuckles.

"Vash the Stampede? I'm Meryl Stryfe from the Bernardelli Insurance Society."

"And I'm Millie Thompson!"

"Your destructive ways have made you a tremendous insurance liability and a danger to the general public. On these grounds, you are under arrest! Come out with your hands up!"

Meryl quickly backed away from the door, the tiny barrel of her derringer pointing square at the door in case things got complex. But she heard nothing from inside the room, and ten long seconds passed, and the door still hadn't opened. Meryl turned her steel-gray eyes to Millie, who nodded and braced herself against the wall opposite of the door. Without a single sound, the brown-haired girl pulled the trigger on her stungun, sending two tremendous crossbolts sailing into the door. The wood crumpled like a cheap lawn chair with the second shot, and Meryl rushed in, stepping over the splintered wood. Millie soon followed, but both women were astounded to find an empty room awaiting them.

"Where is he?" Millie said, wandering towards the middle of the room like Vash was hiding under the rug and if she stepped on him, the resounding cry of pain would tell her where he was. Meryl noticed that the window was open into the descending evening and that the beds were lacking the usual blankets and sheets; what was more, there was a piece of floral print cloth tied to the edge of the windowsill.

Without thinking, she sped to the window and confirmed what her gut had told her; there was a long rope made of tied-together blankets leading from the second-story window to about six feet off the ground.

_Has he escaped? _

A large hand closing over her mouth aborted that theory.

For a few brief seconds, Meryl's over-worked mind froze in terror. Her normally efficient brain ceased to function, and her eyes widened as she realized that the man holding her could only be the supposed Vash the Stampede. The flutter of red cloth she saw behind her feet told her that much.

Damn it. He'd gotten them, the clever bastard.

Millie's sounds of struggle finally reached her ears, and Meryl managed to crane her head upwards and get a good look at her assailant's face. The quick glimpse that she saw of him in the lobby was barely enough to use as a description in case he slipped through their fingers again.

Surprisingly, he wasn't all that bad looking. She had thought a man who could reduce cities to rubble would at least look like a scarred-up rogue. There were certainly enough ugly people impersonating him successfully. But he wasn't ugly at all. . . Meryl would even have described him as handsome if the situation had been different.

She was surprised, too, at how tall he was; he had seemed fairly large on the street, but at close range she noticed that she only came to midway up his torso. His hair was blonde, and the way he had it spiked up made his hair look like a broom. His skin was strangely pale, with no freckles or pockmarks save a small mole by his left eye. His left ear had a single silver earring, which Meryl normally didn't like on men, but he pulled off the look nicely. His nose was long and straight, with just the slightest tweak upwards at the end. His eyes. . . his eyes were a beautiful color, somewhere between the blue of the sky and the green of the rare plant life Meryl had encountered in her travels. They were gazing at her so intensely, so seriously that Meryl began to believe again that this was Vash the Stampede.

The man let a smile cross his face and his eyes squeezed shut in a. . . _friendly_ manner?

What the hell?

"I'm sorry about all this, miss. I just didn't want you or your friend making a big fuss and attracting lots of attention. I don't think the other people in the hotel would appreciate it much."

Now he was considering the feelings of others? To repeat: What the hell?

Meryl began to feel irritated at this supposed Vash the Stampede and his asinine grin, with his excuses of not wanting to disturb anyone and his clever plans to outwit them. Her irritation grew so much, in fact, that she promptly slammed the butt of her derringer into his groin.

Apparently the legendary Vash the Stampede was not invulnerable to groin shots.

She fought the urge to laugh maniacally as his eyes crossed and his leather-clad hand released her; she whipped around and pointed the barrel of her derringer at him as he sunk to the floor, folded in half.

"Was that necessary?" He choked out.

She ignored him and pulled out another small gun, aiming at Millie's captor, the man in black. Since Millie's stungun didn't allow the maneuverability that Meryl had, the brown-haired woman was still being held. "I'd advise you to let go of my partner, mister. We're only here for Vash the Stampede and I don't want to harm any civilians."

* * *

Wolfwood turned his charcoal gray eyes to Vash, who slowly nodded. Wolfwood sighed and released Millie, backing away a few steps from her and holding up his hands. A few specks of ash fell from his cigarette in the silence that followed as Millie picked up her stungun from the floor. 

Vash gradually rose, the excruciating pain having lightened enough so that he could stand. Meryl kept the tiny barrel of her derringer trained on him the whole time. Damn, she didn't mess around, did she? Hits him straight in the groin and she doesn't take her eyes off him for a second!

Vash raised his hands so she could see he wasn't going to attack her before speaking.

"Look, miss. . . isn't here another way to deal with this?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Stampede. We're under direct orders."

Vash's eyes widened, but not at Meryl's last statement. No, they were widening because his hearing was slowly fading to nothing. The last thing he heard the small woman say was "Go get the cuffs, Millie" before there was a small _pop_ and he went entirely deaf.

Someone was sending him a telepathic message.

_Who's there? What do you want?_

_**Ah, so rude. Don't you remember me, brother?**_

Wolfwood glanced over at Vash and nearly jumped out of his skin at the expression on his face. Which was saying something, because there wasn't a whole lot that could scare Wolfwood even the tiniest bit. Vash's eyes had narrowed and turned cold; it was like he had become a totally different person from the carefree Vash that he had befriended.

_What do you want, Knives?_

_**Oh, not much. . . simply the destruction of all human beings. **_

_That means us too, you know._

_**Don't be ridiculous, Vash.**_

Vash's eyes saddened, but a scowl remained on his lips. There was a second's pause before Knives 'spoke' again, his voice continuing its calm, silky tone. Like a satin sheet. Or the sound of a snake sliding through the grass.

_**You and I both know that we've made ourselves better than humans. We shall be the ones to carry out the annihilation of their race. All you need do is join me, brother, and we can save this planet from the virus that is homo sapien.**_

_I'll never do that, Knives. You know Rem didn't want this, she didn't train us so that we could--_

_**Don't you say that woman's name!**_

The blonde man was faintly aware that Meryl was snapping the cuffs around his wrists, but he was still deaf; after Knives's last statement he was sure that his ears would ring even when the telepathic connection was shut off. There was a long pause, and Vash almost felt that he could sense Knives panting for breath in fury.

_**. . .Those are some interesting humans you're with, Vash.**_

The blonde gunman's eyes widened once more and his hearing began to return, strengthening gradually, like someone was taking cotton out of his ears. He mentally cried out for Knives, but he barely caught a faint strain of laughter before his hearing returned to the physical plane with another _pop_.

"Mr. Vash? Are you okay?" He heard Millie say, her big blue eyes blinking obliviously at him.

Vash whirled his head to the two girls and Wolfwood, his demeanor completely altered to serious and grave. "You need to get out of the building. Right now."

"Are you insane?" Meryl said. "We finally hunt you down after months and you're telling us--"

"Just go!"

Meryl jumped back a bit, startled at his yell. She hadn't known Vash for long, but she wasn't expecting him to be this abrupt, and she definitely wasn't expecting him to start shouting at her.

"Come on."

The small woman turned her head to Wolfwood, who was already heading for the door of the apartment. God, were all men who hung out with Vash the Stampede affected by his insanity? No one had even bothered to tell her what was going on!

Seeing Meryl's disgruntled and somewhat confused look, Wolfwood decided to offer an explanation.

"Look, I've traveled with this guy for a long time. When he says to get out of the building, the best thing you can do is get out of the building."

Meryl opened her mouth to further the argument, but before she could say anything, there was a thunderous explosion from the room next to them. The smaller woman instinctively squinted and shielded her face with her arms against the flash of light; she felt a large chunk of plaster sock her in the gut, and she flew backwards; she tried to take a breath, but it was like there was a weight on her stomach and she couldn't get any air; somewhere she remembered to expect the hard impact of the opposite wall on her back, but it never happened. There was a small impact, but it was nothing so harsh and cruel as being slammed against a wall. Her diaphragm shuddered back into action and Meryl opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was the red coat. After that was the blonde, spiked hair, then the pale skin, then the sea-green eyes. It took her a few seconds to register that Vash the Stampede--a vicious gunman, a heartless monster, a demon who yearned only for blood--had saved her.

* * *

Lynne Wallen jolted awake, taking the material of her sleeping bag with her as she sat up abruptly. She wished for a second that the damn bandits would save the explosions for a time when she wasn't trying to get some much-needed shut-eye, but the analytical part of her mind took over. Down the street, she could see a large orange blur on the second floor of a building that she guessed was the Stanton Inn. She couldn't read the sign. 

"Damn nearsightedness..."

The brown-haired girl fumbled for her glasses in the dark, which were hiding underneath the small kiosk next to her. Lynne heard Emma stirring to consciousness inside the portable shop as she slipped on her glasses.

The orange blur snapped into focus, revealing that flames were licking the roof of the Stanton Inn with destructive eagerness. Lynne rapidly linked the explosion to the fire and judged that someone had dropped a bomb on the popular hotel. The tall girl wormed out of her sleeping bag and whacked the side of the kiosk, allowing two wooden handles to fall down from the corners of the cart until they were parallel to the ground. The noise alternately brought Emma into the land of the living, and the blonde girl peeked over the side of the kiosk.

"What're we going into rickshaw mode for?"

"Someone bombed the Stanton Inn. People could be hurt." Lynne replied, strapping her rolled-up sleeping bag to the side of the cart. "Come on!"

Emma vaulted herself out of the kiosk and began jogging next to Lynne, who was hauling the kiosk behind her like she was a donkey. The plants rattled dangerously on the shelves, threatening to tip over and crack the pots, ruining Miss Gypsy Dragonfly's business forever. The one time Emma had asked why Lynne used the pseudonym of Gypsy Dragonfly, the brown-haired girl had replied that Gypsy Dragonfly was a much more mystical name than Lynne Wallen and was therefore more appropriate for someone selling spells and herbal remedies.

Still, that was the only thing that was fake about Lynne. Everything she did or said was the genuine article. She didn't even wear any makeup, which flat-out didn't make sense to Emma. The shorter girl didn't rely on cosmetics for beauty, but it was fun to try different combinations. Lynne was a tomboy at heart--possibly the only twenty-five-year-old tomboy on Gunsmoke. Except when dealing with customers, Lynne was shy and introspective, whereas Emma was bold and outgoing twenty-four hours a day. Like the moon and the sun, they couldn't be more different, but somehow existed to complement each other. The two were inseparable.

"Shit!"

Lynne ducked into a back alley to avoid the spray of gunfire that suddenly came their way. Emma followed close behind, crouching next to the kiosk which Lynne had somehow vaulted into the alley with them. The stench of gunpowder rolled into her nasal cavity, and she cringed. The brown-haired girl peeked out from behind the building to attempt to assess the situation.

The Stanton Inn stood at the very end of the street, backed up against a cliff face. A man in black that held a giant cross/machine gun was standing in front of the blazing hotel, firing up at a blue-haired man in a white coat. The blue-haired man was actually on top of the Stanton Inn, seemingly unaffected by the flames. Lynne flicked out her glasses again, and saw that the man seemed to be manipulating the fire, either throwing balls of fire or lashing out with tendrils of flame at the man on the ground. A psychic, then, either telepyric or telekinetic.

The man in black himself was uninjured due to skillful dodging, though he must have accidentally squeezed the trigger while avoiding the flame, nearly shooting the two girls; he seemed to have gotten in a few good shots, however, because Lynne could see the blue-haired man's white coat stained with red--stains that were dangerously close to his heart.

"Emma, can I get an aura block? The psychic on the roof is bleeding too much for my comfort."

The shorter girl regarded her friend with wary brown eyes; Lynne was snapping her glasses case shut and preparing to launch herself into the conflict. "Um. . . Lynne?"

"Yes?"

"You do know that the guy on the roof is the 'bad guy', right?" Emma made the infamous Air Quotes around 'bad guy', but Lynne simply grinned.

"Hey, when has that stopped us before? Even bad guys must have a little bit of good in them."

Emma smiled gently, a genuine smile that only Lynne ever saw. She took the taller girl's 'words of wisdom' to heart, and liked to hear her friend repeating some of hers. It was. . . comforting, knowing that what she had to say wasn't being swept aside like a broom sweeps dirt off the porch.

She raised her hands above Lynne's head, slowly bringing them down to the ground so that they swept over Lynne's whole form. As her hands moved, she saw Lynne's pulsing aura vanish until it had completely disappeared from her vision. Hopefully, the psychic on the roof wouldn't sense Lynne's aura either.

"Thanks, EJ."

Lynne pushed off the ground and took off, heading further down the alley. She cut behind a building and made for the Stanton Inn, making sure to take the back routes so the man on the roof wouldn't see her. It would be a waste if Emma had gone to the trouble of giving her an aura block and she got herself caught because she was stupid enough to go out into the open.

For some inexplicable reason, there was a small pile of timbers behind one of the houses--maybe a family was using them for some minor construction, but Lynne had always been opportunistic. She grabbed one of the smaller pieces of wood, which was about the size of her thigh, and tucked it under her arm.

When she reached the burning building, she clambered up the fire escape (she stored the irony of it all in the back of her mind), holding her black collared shirt over her nose to ward off some of the smoke. Pulling herself onto the roof, she squinted against the blast of heat that stung the moisture from her eyes. Machine-gun fire went off again, and Lynne forced herself to continue, trying to make her footsteps as light as possible so she wouldn't warrant attention from the blue-haired man. She dodged growing flames, as well as stray gunfire that shattered the night with sharp stacatto strikes, until at last she found herself directly behind the blue-haired man.

Lynne paused.

Dangerous, it was too dangerous. What the hell was she thinking? She was being shot at while dancing around a Li'l Slice O' Hell, trying to knock out a goddamn _pyro_ who would probably try to kill Emma and her once he woke up. She couldn't do this. . .

Lynne realized how much she was sweating and wiped her face with her free hand. As she did so, her finger brushed over the ancient scar that ran beneath her right eye.

_

* * *

"Never hesitate, Lynne. When you hesitate, your mind works against you, you begin doubting yourself. That doubt spreads to others like a disease. You must always push forward for what you believe is right." __

* * *

I haven't forgotten, Dona Esperanza. _

Her eyes hardened, and both hands clenched around the beam of wood decisively. No running away now.

She charged, bringing the beam of wood through the air in a vicious arc, slamming it into the side of the man's head. Lynne had been hauling her cart around the desert for going on seven years, and as such had stronger arms and legs than average. This granted her the ability to knock the man unconscious with a single hit; as he fell to the ground, some of the flames seemed to subside, then extinguish themselves, until only half of the fire remained.

_Definitely telepyric._ Lynne tried to sigh in relief, but choked on the gray smoke on the inhale. She inwardly chuckled at herself, draping the blue-haired man's left arm over her shoulders and supporting him with her right arm. Lynne half-dragged the man off the burning roof (nearly killing them both trying to descend the fire escape), then managed to hobble down the back alleys to where Emma was patiently waiting. Lynne set the man on the ground on his back, doing a jaw thrust to keep his airway open, and set to unbuckling the belts that held his coat together.

"Why does the damn idiot have to wear four frickin' belts. . . Emma, can you check the cabinet for any syringes? In case this guy wakes up I don't want him deep-frying us."

The blonde girl leapt over the side of the cart and ducked down, opening a cabinet on the inside of one of the walls. This was where Lynne kept the products that couldn't be bought over-the-counter; painkillers, styptics, and narcotics of varying degrees of legality were kept in the dark cupboard. No actual plants resided there--the lack of sunlight would have killed them--but their extracts were concentrated and distilled in jars, awaiting the day when they would be of use.

Emma blindly ran her hands along the jars, tracing the names that were etched onto the glass.

"Quercus. . . Lobelia. . . Morphine. . . Rosmarinus. . ."

"Wait, wait--Morphine? That should dope him up enough."

"And help with the pain, right?"

"Yeah, that too."

Emma smirked as she found the airtight, sterilized box of syringes and loaded one of them up with the poppy-derived drug. She handed the syringe to Lynne, who had finally managed to get off the man's coat and shirt, and the taller girl injected the morphine into the man's body before surveying the damage. The bullet wounds were many, pushing out dark blood around small cylinders of metal. The man's skin was frighteningly pale, though Emma couldn't tell if it was from blood loss or if it was natural. His aura was weak, collecting around the bullet wounds and making desperate attempts to heal.

Emma turned away from the sight and retrieved Lynne's surgical kit from a separate cabinet. The brown-haired girl took the white box and began the process of removing the bullets after pulling on her latex gloves.

"Damn. . ." Lynne spoke as the bullets fell with metallic _plinks_ into the awaiting tray. "This guy's lucky he's a psychic. . . this would've killed an ordinary guy."

"He gathered his aura around his vital organs and his heart," Emma explained.

"Can telepyrics do that?"

Emma's small head nodded. "All psychics can manipulate their aura and energy to some degree. Telepyrics just work best by channelling their energy through fire."

The sound of approaching footsteps cut off their conversation, and both girls turned their heads to the end of the alley, where the man in black was standing. The metal cross was still slung on his shoulder, in the perfect position to sweep up and riddle them all with bullets in the time it took him to twitch. His stance and the look on his face screamed business, and Lynne knew without a doubt that he came to finish off 'the bad guy'.

"Step aside, girls. I'm only here for Legato."

Legato. So that was his name.

There was a pause as neither Lynne nor Emma moved a muscle; the man in black glared at them with charcoal eyes, eyes that slowly hardened as time passed and the girls did nothing to show they'd even heard him. Emma began gnawing on her bottom lip, a nervous habit developed over the years.

"I'm warning you. That man is dangerous. If you don't move away from him, I may be forced into doing something I don't want to do."

The end of the cross raised just a hair in warning, and Lynne slowly stood.

* * *

His head felt like an Alka-Seltzer that had been dissolved in water. There was a pleasant numb feeling about his whole body, but his head was uncomfortably murky. He tried to pull together a focused thought, to see if he could still produce a flame, but he soon realized that it wasn't really that important. . . he could try that later. . . 

The numb feeling was really quite intoxicating. . . he couldn't tell if he was lying down, or standing, or in any other discernable position. He felt like he was floating, like he was invulnerable to anything that would hurt him.

Legato sluggishly opened his golden eyes that were reminiscient of a mountain lion's, taking in the stripe of dark night sky that was sprinkled with stars. A thought drifted in the back of his brain that he must be lying down, but it was gone in a few moments. He vaguely noticed that a man was talking. . . there was that nudge again in his brain that someone was talking _about_ him, but not necessarily _to _him. He lifted his head just slightly, satisfying the temporary fancy of seeing who was talking about him.

There were three people before him: a petite blonde girl who seemed to like biting on her lip, and who had an aura that he recognized as that of a psychic; a tall man in black with a large metal cross that looked. . . hmm. . . somewhat familiar (Legato had the strangest inkling that he wasn't supposed to like the man); and a second girl with mahogany hair and a dirt-stained apron. The man was just finishing saying something, and Legato's ears caught the last strains of it.

". . . Something I don't want to do."

His feline eyes watched as the brown haired girl stood, then moved so that she was standing at his feet, facing the man in black. She stood confidently, unafraid of taking any damage. It was almost as though she was. . . protecting him. . .

She began to speak, and Legato found himself paying rapt attention without entirely knowing why.

"You say that this, "Legato" is dangerous. Yet one could probably say the same thing about you. Just by looking at you, I can see that you aren't a saint. You aren't entirely good--what reason do we have to believe that Legato is entirely bad?"

The man in black narrowed his eyes. "You haven't seen what he's capable of. He serves a man who's practically the devil!"

"Does he know that?"

His master. . . the man in black had called him a 'devil'. He was wrong. . . Knives was no devil, he was an angel to Legato. He would be the savior of this pitiful world. . . Legato would have gotten up to argue, but he couldn't seem to muster the willpower. . . Besides, the girl had more to say, and interrupting was rude. . .

"No one ever chooses a side believing that it's the wrong one. To him, _you're_ the bad guy."

The man in black flinched at that, then regained face, something that sounded like a low growl rumbling in his throat. He said nothing, though, and the girl ran a hand through her unruly hair.

"Now then. . . Legato is currently my patient. While we've been sitting here chatting, he's bleeding from at least five bullet wounds that _you_ put into him. I'll offer you this: I'll fix him up and treat any wounds that you might have as well. You get to fight another day, and Legato lives and gets the chance to prove he's got some good in him. If he doesn't, he's yours to pass judgement on. If he does. . ."

She paused and seemed to be forming her next words inside her head. The man in black furrowed his brow, waiting not-so-patiently for the sentence to continue. When the girl did speak, something in her words reverberated in Legato's drug-hazed mind.

"If he does, we'll know that we can save someone who we thought we could only condemn. That'll be good enough for me."

Legato closed his eyes, somehow knowing that the conversation was over. 'Save' him? He didn't need to be saved. It was not he who was in the wrong. . . it was all the human beings. . .

The haze thickened in his mind, and he suddenly found it very hard to focus on anything at all. . . he was slipping behind the curtain of consciousness again. . . dissolving further into sleep. . .

Still. . . it was nice that the human girl. . . had protected him. . .

* * *

Legato snapped up, his golden eyes searching around him and almost frantically taking in any stimulus. 

Alleyway. How the hell did he get in an alleyway? He had been on the roof of the Stanton Inn, fighting Nicholas D. Wolfwood while his master and Vash the Stampede fought atop the cliff. . . he remembered a sharp pain in his head and deduced that someone must have snuck up behind him and knocked him unconscious. But how? He should have sensed their aura. . .

He wracked his brain, pushing his memory forward in time. He had been conscious for a small period of time. . . but what had happened? He remembered that Wolfwood was there, trying to get to him to kill him, but a brown-haired girl was barring his path. . . she had said something. . . something about saving. . .

_"If he does, we'll know that we can save someone who we thought we could only condemn."_

_Tch. Foolish girl. _

He dug in the heels of his palms, starting to stand up, but in the process, his finger brushed a piece of paper next to him on the ground. Legato picked it up, and found it to be an envelope with his name on it; when he opened it, he found a letter that was written in untidy, scrawling cursive on what looked like papyrus paper.

_Dear Mr. Legato,_

_Once you're done reading this letter, feel free to torch it or do whatever you wish. I'd like to think you'd read a letter from the person who saved your life all the way through, but that's just me. _

_Do you know why I saved you, Legato? Still trying to figure out why I defended you from Nicholas D. Wolfwood? I did it because I know that someone in this world cares for you, just as you have someone important to you. It's the same for all of us, and that's why Emma and I do what we can to save everyone we can. No matter how different we may be, everyone feels love and hate and fear. I think once we realize that we're all essentially the same, we can truly save the world. _

_Then again, that's just me. The choice is yours to make._

_Sincerely, _

_Lynne Wallen (a.k.a. Gypsy Dragonfly)_

Legato snorted, then looked back to the envelope. The paper was slightly raised from other objects inside, and he cautiously withdrew the contents: an index card and two rose petals, one white and one red. With a flick of his fingers, the index card flipped over, and Legato read the tidy script printed on this side.

_Red and White Roses_

_Separately, red roses mean beauty, love, and courage, and are associated with the masculine in alchemy; white roses mean truth and innocence, and are associated with the feminine in alchemy. However, when red and white roses are mixed together, they represent unity, or harmony. _

Legato gingerly picked up the rose petals, noting the silky texture against his fingers before he set them aflame, along with the index card and the letter from Lynne. Foolish jargon about symbolism. If the girl had wanted to save people, she should have let him die.

He rose and walked out of the alley, focusing on detecting the energy of Knives. But there was a strangely familiar tingle in the back of his mind, telling him not to forget the roses and the girl who called herself Gypsy Dragonfly.

* * *

So there you have it. A major thanks to igbogal for the quote--I am definitely going to work that in later. Unfortunately, I'm scrapping the 'preview' deal. It backed me into a corner for this chapter, and that was not a nice place to be. If I ever finish this story, I should do an edition where I give it a spit-shine and all the chapters have previews. Just not right now. T.T;;

Thank you so much for you support on this, and don't forget to review!


	3. Because That's What we Have to Do

Oh, dear. I have been a very, very bad authoress. I told you that an update would never take as long as the previous one, and then I have you wait three times longer. Yes, high school is indeed a force to be reckoned with. To try and make up for it, this chapter is almost ridiculously long--nearly as long as the first two chapters put together. I worked hard on it. Please to enjoy.

-lockheedelektra

* * *

Typewriters should really have 'delete' buttons. It would make things just so much easier.

Meryl ripped away the piece of paper and balled it up, tossing it in the general direction of the trash bin, which was nearing overflow. She'd been trying for going on two hours to type up a report that would explain the situation without making it sound like they had failed. Which they hadn't, really--they were going to arrest Vash the Stampede as soon as he got out of the hospital.

The petite woman groaned, tugging at her dark violet hair in exasperation. Did the world have no sense of justice? No idea _how_--_bloody_--_hard_ they had searched? Was some omniscient god lounging high in the clouds, pointing his finger at these two pitiful mortals and laughing his head off?

"ANSWER ME, GOD!!"

"Um. . . Meryl?"

Meryl turned her head to the doorway, where Millie was holding two cups of steaming coffee. Meryl blinked, realizing that her situation must look rather suspect. In her fury, she had stood up from her chair and thrown her hands towards the heavens, as if begging for God himself to give her an epiphany from above.

"Do you want to take a break, Meryl? I brought you some coffee."

"Er. . . y-yes, thanks, Millie. . ."

The tall brunette smiled before handing Meryl a mug; simply inhaling the tart yet refreshing scent of black coffee gave Meryl renewed energy, but she still opted to sit by the window and take in the scenery. Outside, the endless blue of the desert sky seemed to reach down and kiss the sandstone buildings with sunlight, giving them a glow that was slightly muted by the years of dirt and sand that had collected on the walls.

She turned her attention back to the white mug, swirling the dark liquid inside absentmindedly. Tiny bubbles emerged inside the hypnotic ebony swirls, and Meryl found herself diving into her memory of the past twelve hours.

* * *

Vash the Stampede slowly lowered Meryl to the ground, stepping in front of her protectively. The smoke from the explosion was beginning to clear, and Meryl could barely make out a person's silhouette from behind Vash's lanky form. Her eyes searched the room for her partner, and she let out a miniscule sigh of relief when she saw Millie being shielded by the man in black. Millie's protector reached for his large cross, which was leaning against the wall, but paused mid-stretch as Vash spoke in a low voice.

"Wolfwood. Take the Insurance Girls outside and get them to a safe place."

As the blonde gave his orders, he drew a large silver handgun from the holster on his hip, holding it vertically next to his head. Wolfwood nodded, grunting an affirmative response before grabbing onto his cross, simultaneously ushering Millie towards the door. He jerked his head towards Meryl to indicate that she should follow, and the petite woman started for the door, glancing back at Vash as she did so.

His kind eyes had hardened into sea-green ice, frigid and merciless. They were so different, so much colder than the clumsy warmth they held before that Meryl felt a chill of fear and shivered. It seemed like he had ceased to be the smiling man who saved her; like he had slipped out of one role and into the next, one of harsh realities and hot lead.

This was Vash the Stampede.

"Meryl! Come on!"

Millie's larger hand clasped around Meryl's, and the petite insurance agent felt herself being tugged out the door of the hotel room. As they entered the hall, the sound of two gunshots rang through her head, and she swiveled her head around to look at the room, gray eyes beginning to well up with unexpected concern. He had saved her... only thought of her safety, even though he didn't know a thing about her.

_Vash... please be careful..._

* * *

Millie turned her head forward, directing her focus with unforeseen efficiency on the path before her. The priest's pace was alarmingly quick for carrying such a large weapon--but then she supposed someone could say the same thing about her. His insistent tugging on her hand left no room for questioning, as every breath had to be saved for running. There was another explosion, accompanied by a distant flash of light, as though lightning had struck just a few yarz behind her. The tall girl pulled on Meryl's hand to keep up her pace, taking care not to abuse her strength and hurt her friend. It would be awful if, even on accident, she injured Meryl at a time like this.

Suddenly they were clambering down the stairs, footsteps sounding impossibly loud as they echoed off the walls. The few other occupants of the hotel had already been evacuated, and the solitude of their little trio seemed... incorrect, abnormal. The uneven rhythm of their steps was broken every few seconds by a gunshot or explosion, and Millie felt fear tainting the adrenaline that her body was pumping into her system. Any moment, any moment the tide would turn and the battle would come towards them--she'd seen it happen many times as a field agent, but it was never anything of this magnitude. She'd never truly _feared_ for her life before.

But she had to be strong. If worse came to worse, not only would she be in danger, but Meryl as well. The fear for her own life turned to selfless concern for the life of her friend, and resolve strengthened her legs and pushed her forward. She would never, _never_ let anything happen to her one true friend.

Wolfwood's strong voice entered the bonanza of noise as they left the stairwell and began charging down the hall towards the lobby. "Now listen!" He yelled, the baritone of his voice shocking Millie into attention. "Once we get outside, I want you girls to run for it! Don't worry about me, okay? Just stick to the back alleys and find a safe place!"

"But Mr. Priest, what will you do?" Millie's motherly tendencies stretched to just about everyone; it reached deeper levels for select few people, but the brown-haired girl still worried about Wolfwood. He appeared to be tough, unaffected, perhaps even merciless, but Millie could see that inside he was a good man, that he was just beginning to wonder if maybe he was being good in entirely the wrong way. He was trying, and she didn't want that to go to waste.

Wolfwood turned his head partially to glimpse at her with a charcoal-black eye; she couldn't see his mouth move, but she didn't need to. She saw the worry in his words inside those onyx-colored eyes.

"I'll be fine. Just focus on taking care of yourselves, yeah?"

In a split second, Millie could see her image reflected in Wolfwood's pupils, and it was then that it came to her how alike they were; they both shared the same concern for everyone in their sight, the determination to do the right thing to protect those precious to them.

She nodded, giving a tiny smile, and Wolfwood's eyes smiled back. "Good. We're almost to the exit."

Wolfwood turned his head of midnight-black hair forward again; he reached out with a long, black-clad leg and kicked open the French doors. Night had completely fallen by now, their only light coming from the waxing crescent moon above them. Wolfwood released Millie's hand, looking around warily. Millie heard Meryl behind her panting for breath, and her hands unconsciously reached for the stun gun she concealed underneath her turquoise capelet. The blue-eyed girl was no psychic, but she'd been around long enough to know that something was wrong when every light in every house had gone out.

* * *

Wolfwood set his Cross Punisher on the ground, removing the belts that bound the cloth around it with a flick of his index finger. The multiple clicks echoed for a brief second, then seemed to be eaten alive by the consuming silence. The black-haired man figured he didn't need to say it was too quiet; Millie was gripping her stun gun and Meryl had recovered her breath, soundlessly drawing two derringers, glinting silver in the moonlight. Wolfwood hauled up the giant cross with his arm, prepared to use the machine-gun end of it at the slightest signal.

There was a sudden chill in the air, and the hairs on the back of Wolfwood's neck stood on end. The moon slithered behind a cloud, dousing the shine from their weapons and throwing a veil over Wolfwood's vision. He told himself that it wasn't unusual; desert nights were typically cold, but in his gut he knew this had nothing to do with temperature. No… this cold, this icy atmosphere that gripped at his heart and made every nerve in his body scream… Mother Nature could never create something that efficiently horrific.

"It's such a nice night, isn't it?"

He whipped around, just barely restraining the manic reflexes that told him to pull the trigger and not let go until whatever had such a threatening presence was pumped full of hot lead. It would be foolish to waste his ammo when there could be more than one enemy around, he told himself.

Wolfwood's eyes widened as he looked to the roof of the Stanton Inn, and a crazy wish ran through his head that he should have overrun his training just once and shot the figure atop the building until he could no longer stand. A white coat stood out starkly before the dark cliff, framing a tall, broad-shouldered man. The moon re-emerged, as though following some undetectable cue from the figure, and the glimmering reflection on the spikes protruding from his right shoulder told Wolfwood all he needed to know. His suspicions were confirmed as the man stepped further into the light, revealing silky cerulean hair and piercing Wolfwood with a hawk-like, golden gaze.

"Legato Bluesummers..." He murmured, gritting his teeth and feeling every muscle in his body tense up. Legato seemed to take notice of this, and a tiny smirk curled on his face.

"Whatever could be wrong, Nicholas D. Wolfwood? Do you not enjoy the night air? Though I must admit," Legato paced a few more steps forward and Wolfwood instinctively shifted to protect the two women, "it was rather chilly earlier. I had to light a few fires, though there seems to be a shortage of conventional fuel here..."

His voice was toneless, devoid of inflection, terrifying in its lack of humanity. He spoke softly, yet they heard every word with frightening clarity, as if it was impossible for him to go unheard. _God, don't say it, you heartless bastard..._

"...So I had to use some of the townsfolk instead. They don't last very long, I'm afraid. Pity."

Meryl gave a half-angered, half-shocked gasp, and Wolfwood heard Millie's breath catch in her throat and smelled salty tears begin to bead in her clear blue eyes. "You monster..." she whispered, so low that there was no way that Legato could have heard her. Yet the silence seemed to be on Legato's side, amplifying their words and sending them towards its blue-haired master.

"Monster? I should hardly think so. It is you humans who are the monsters, you who choose not to end your vicious cycle of destruction and suffering, even though the decision should be a simple one. It is you who sap any and all richness from the earth, sucking every last drop to satiate your own greed."

Wolfwood absently noticed that his and Vash's hotel room had caught on fire; while it was merely a passing thought, he realized the significance when flames leapt from the room to Legato's outstretched hand, dancing within the man's palm. A dazed smile came onto his features, and he bobbed the flame up and down in a mockery of a yo-yo.

"You humans could never understand the way we psychics think. To us, everything is sacred. Everything but you."

A bead of sweat rolled down Wolfwood's temple, and for a brief second, time ceased to be. The silence suddenly swallowed all, deafening, pressing, sealing everything into its exact place. Everything was completely, utterly, still.

And then, the world exploded.

* * *

Light burst from the hotel, rendering her vision completely useless; every brick in every building, every star in the sky was obliterated by white. After it subsided, she forced herself to pry open her eyes, mentally strangling the reflex that told her to blink away the spots that danced maddeningly before her. Meryl could barely distinguish the imprints from the actual flames, which had erupted so that they covered the entire roof and most of the building; there were flashes of light coming from atop the cliff like lightning, electric crackling noises severing the night. Though the insurance girl had never seen a battle between psychics, she was sure that this was unprecedented. Telekinesis, pyromancy, mind control--she'd been educated about all of _those_.

She'd never even heard of energy attacks.

A shout carried down the face of the rock, a fierce battle cry steeped in adrenaline. She recognized the voice as Vash's, and her pupils contracted in shock. What if Vash died? Millie and Meryl would probably lose their jobs, but for some reason, that wasn't what Meryl was concerned with. Meryl came to the conclusion that it was a side effect of common human compassion, but whatever it was, she did not want Vash to die.

"Meryl, come on!"

She felt her body being jerked along by Millie; she thought that Vash's name slipped from her lips, but it was lost in the roar of fire that swept over the place where she'd been standing not a second ago. Meryl remembered Wolfwood's instructions and broke into a run, trying to put the sounds of gunfire behind her. Gun… who had a gun? How had that happened…?

Her senses blurred as she followed Millie into an alley. The heat at her back, the crackle of flames and the _rat-a-tat-tat_, the smell of sand and stone as she flattened herself against the wall; all were one nearly incomprehensible mass. The only thing clear was that they were mercifully out of Legato's range, as none of the fiery tendrils attempted to reach them. Meryl forced herself to focus on the hammer blows of her heart against her ribcage and steeled herself again, gray eyes sharpening.

Something zoomed past the opening of the alley—she recognized it as a cart, and vaguely remembered the two girls who accompanied it from earlier that day. She'd seen them on the street—something about herbal medicines and charms. The brunette had claimed to be a _curandera_; Meryl had never met one before, but was of the understanding that they acted as medicine women. Healers.

It then hit her that the other girls were planning to help in the fight.

_That's so foolish! They don't need to get involved in this!_

But did they? If they were the healers that they claimed to be, the two must have an obligation to help those in need. Except for in the biggest cities, advanced medicine was sparse. It was their duty to assist in any way they could.

_Their duty…_

Meryl stood, aware of Millie giving her a concerned look from her kneeling position on the ground. "Meryl?"

The petite woman gave no answer, running her hand along the inside of her cloak to ensure that none of her derringers had slipped from their holsters. Millie noticed her stern resolve and rose next to her. "You can't be thinking of going back out there, Meryl!"

"We have to, Millie. It's our duty." _Yes… our duty._

"But you could die!"

Meryl turned storm-gray eyes to her friend, noting how fierce Millie's blue eyes were, how they were perfectly determined to keep her from re-entering the fray. Her voice softened.

"We could have died on a lot of our jobs. But I'm not going to let that stop me from doing whatever I can to try and help."

She turned her head back to the mouth of the alleyway, her eyes shadowed by thick violet-black hair. No turning back.

"You can stay here if you want, Millie. I'm going to help Vash."

Meryl took a step, but halted when she felt Millie's strong hand on her shoulder. She looked behind her to be met with the sight of Millie's hopeful face. "I'll come with you. I want to help, too. Besides, who else can help you get up that cliff face?"

Meryl chuckled, which was horridly inappropriate for their situation. Oh well.

"You ready?"

Millie nodded, and Meryl's memories from the moment she met the brown haired girl zoomed through her head, like a movie on fast-forward. Her partner, her confidante, her friend. She'd always planned to live out to a ripe old age, but if Millie was by her side, Meryl was ready for anything.

Even death by pyromaniac.

Meryl left the alley first, taking off at a sprint for the other side of the street; Millie was right next to her, following her all the way to the edge of the cliff. They'd gone unnoticed by Legato, due to his absorption in his fight with Nicholas D. Wolfwood. The Stanton Inn was now around the corner of the cliff to their right; the dancing shadows of the flames evaporated underneath the flashes of energy that still flew across the top of the cliff.

Meryl took out the Bernardelli standard-issue miniature flashlight and flicked it on, setting it between her teeth as she found footholds in the rock. She began to climb rapidly, propelling her light frame up the cliff, avoiding thoughts of how high up she was or what would become of her body if she fell. Millie was just beneath her, after all; she knew that Millie would catch her.

Right as she threw her arm over the top of the cliff, she realized that it had been oddly quiet up there for some time. Before she could tell her limbs to halt, she pulled herself up so her head was over the edge of the cliff, and gray eyes gazed upon a scene that chilled her to the bone.

_Vash…_

_

* * *

Ergh… fuck._

He was swearing. This _had_ to be bad.

Knives still towered over him and was panting harshly, but a triumphant, feral grin was stretched across his features. His black gun remained in its holster, untouched, while Vash's silver one had flown out of his hand and across the plateau about five minutes into the fight. His elder twin had a number of injuries, but either they weren't as severe as his own or he was forcing himself not to feel the pain. Vash kept one eye on his brother as he took inventory of his wounds.

Cuts and scorch marks lashed across his upper half, and he could barely lift his fatigued arms; breathing was painful. A rib must've cracked somehow… He tried to move his right leg and agony screamed from his shin. _Must be broken._ His left leg was intact, but lactic acid burned in the muscles, and he doubted it could support him for long. He closed his eyes and began to focus on redirecting the lactic acid back to his liver; if Knives continued to toy with him, he might have time to make a comeback…

Vash's concentration was broken as a mental whisper brushed against his mind. It was faint, so quiet and weak that it must have been unintentional. When non-psychics had thoughts with strong emotion behind them, they filtered through—though still he barely heard them. His eyes snapped open and he managed to tilt his head back, praying that no one would be there.

Gray eyes stared back at him, shocked and frozen. It was one of the Insurance girls from before; Vash felt panic erupt in his throat, but before he could say a word, Knives turned his head towards her, grin still in place.

"Is this one of your human companions, brother? I have to say that I expected something more… well, more."

Vash felt the girl's aura start to quiver with fear as Knives slowly stepped towards her, and despair squeezed at the pit of his stomach. Knives would kill her, of course he would, and her friend as well. Wolfwood. Everyone. As Vash lay there, helpless, Knives would kill the whole town.

Unless he did something. Unless he could pull himself off the ground and give one last fight…

"_You've been given great powers, Vash. I know that you'll use them to protect as many people as you can."_

His fist clenched, and before he knew quite how to move his limbs, before he realized that he was gathering his energy once more, he was blocking Knives's path and his tattered red coat was settling around him. His hand was beginning to glow lightly, heating up with the energy that was collecting there.

"Not another step, Knives. I won't let you hurt these people." _I will protect them. _

* * *

Knives raised a fair eyebrow at his little brother on the ground before him, shielding the human girl even as his body trembled with fatigue, his hand extended as he prepared to give one last shot. He still thought he could save them. How… touching.

Did you miss the sarcasm there?

The elder man raised his own hand dramatically, knowing that Vash couldn't manage to muster enough energy for a fatal shot. He was too weak, in body and mind. This fight was over.

His arm froze, however, as the aura of another psychic flared up with astonishing ferocity. At that same time, Legato's energy and flames sputtered before giving out. He'd fallen unconscious.

Knives's keen mind began calculating—he hadn't noticed the presence of another psychic in the city until now, which only meant that they must have been repressing their aura greatly, something that took a good deal of power itself. He examined the aura more closely; it was feminine, not used to exhibiting such high levels of fury as it was now. Which didn't mean the owner didn't do a damn good job of it, radiating righteous rage in all directions.

Yet it was just a threat, still withholding itself towards the lower end of the psychic Richter scale. There was no way to know how high it could go.

He turned back to his brother, who had also noticed the foreign aura and was staring him down with sea-green eyes, daring him to make a move. He considered his options; with Legato out of the picture, he would be the sole target of this new psychic with an indefinite amount of power, who was fresh and ready to rumble while he was starting to feel the effects of his fight. Then there was Vash, who seemed to have found his second wind.

However, if he cut his losses and backed out, there would be time to recuperate from his wounds and find out more about this curious new player. Then he could identify her weakness—it was definitely a 'she'—and decide where and when to strike so that it would cripple her. Or even better—if it was revealed that her level of power was potentially equal to his, he could coax her over to his side.

Then he would be almost unstoppable.

Knives withdrew his hand, and his smile became more modest until it was more like a smirk. He felt a small twinge of amusement at the dumbstruck look on Vash's face; forging the link between their minds once more, he left his brother with a message before using his energy reserves to speed his exit.

_**There's a reason for everything, little brother. You'll understand in due time.**_

* * *

Meryl watched as the other man's form vanished into the night horizon, still hypnotized by the strange events that had just played out before her. Vash the Stampede had a brother who was just as powerful as he—what had she gotten herself into?

The trance was broken as Vash swayed in the air, then slumped over his bent knee, apparently unconscious. Meryl's brain kicked back into gear and she hauled herself up the rest of the way, rushing to Vash's side and propping him up against her shoulder. His head lolled back and Meryl's brow furrowed as worry for Vash's life consumed her thoughts.

Millie's head poked over the edge of the cliff, and the big girl clambered onto the surface of the plateau once she judged the situation. She crouched on the other side of Vash and squinted against the dark, inspecting the worst of his injuries.

"We need to take him to a hospital, Meryl."

Millie's voice barely reached her friend; Meryl simply nodded numbly and let Millie lift Vash off the ground. She was getting attached—stupid. He was a criminal, not a damn puppy dog. In a couple of days he'd be in jail. She couldn't let her emotions get in the way.

But when Vash wheezed out a groan, Meryl found it hard to suppress her spirits. "Vash? What is it?" She placed her hands on his shoulders as he rested in Millie's arms, gazing hopefully at his face (which was still tilted backwards).

"My… gun…"

Meryl cocked her head, not sure that she'd heard him right. His gun? His damn _gun_? That was all he had to say?

She gave a mighty huff and stalked out across the plateau towards a smallish, glinting piece of metal that lay about ten yarz away. Meryl retrieved the gun, noting how heavy it was but discarding the information in favor of her familiar state of irritation. She shoved the gun into the holster on Vash's thigh, crossing her arms and giving him a mild glare.

"There. Happy?"

The blond man gave a faint smile before his muscles went slack and he passed into unconsciousness once more.

"I'm sure he's thankful, Meryl."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just get going."

After a nifty bit of resourcefulness involving Millie's stun gun sling, Vash was secured to the bigger girl and they safely descended down the cliff. Their hope was slowly beginning to rekindle, and smiles emerged on the two women's faces as they passed the Stanton Inn.

Throughout the town, confused citizens were poking their heads out of their doors, trying to gauge what the commotion was and calling for the firefighters to put out the blaze at the inn. While the incident seemed disastrous to them, it was a tremendous relief to Meryl and Millie. Legato's claim was a bluff. Whether he couldn't bring himself to kill that many people or he just wanted to mess with their minds, Meryl didn't know. She doubted the former, but it she honestly couldn't bring herself to care which one it was at the moment. The town of Hermes was still alive.

They hurried Vash to the hospital, where he was whisked away on a stretcher, an IV stuck in his arm. A nurse holding a clipboard had stood far too close for Meryl's liking, asking if they were relatives or if Vash had any physical conditions they needed to know about. As soon as Millie let slip the word, 'psychic', there was a frenzy of white coats, and the two insurance agents found themselves surrounded by doctors. After several rounds of questioning, to which both of them always gave the same neutral response, the girls managed to escape the hospital and seek refuge at the nearest Bernardelli Insurance Society outpost.

Meryl had managed to catch roughly five hours of sleep—she would have gotten more, but she'd spent most of the night worrying over Vash, then promptly berating herself for doing so.

_He's just another assignment,_ she told herself. _I can't let my convictions waver._

She had still been telling herself that over her stale-bagel-and-coffee breakfast, and she was telling it to herself now, as she gazed out the window towards the hospital, hoping fervently that Vash was all right. _Great. I must be going soft._

Millie noticed her partner's stare, peeking at Meryl with her blue eyes from over the rim of her coffee mug. She slurped a bit of the liquid before setting it down on the desk and leaning towards Meryl, placing a hand on the smaller girl's shoulder.

"You want to go visit him, don't you?"

Meryl blinked at her friend, quite obviously not expecting that question. _Did _she want to visit Vash?

"I… I guess so. I mean, we still need to question him and all. You know, just to confirm that he really is Vash the Stampede," Meryl said, her attitude once more businesslike now that that light of day was shining upon them. She placed her mug on the desk, stood, and stretched before plucking her cloak off the chair and fastening it around her neck. Millie didn't miss that her movements were somewhat hastened, that her step was just slightly quicker than before.

Meryl paused in the door frame and looked back, hands upon her hips. "Millie, come on! We don't want to give him a chance to escape!"

Millie just gave a knowing smile and followed her friend out the door.

* * *

"Hello. We'd like to visit a patient here."

The clerk sitting at the desk popped her bright pink bubble gum and Meryl's eye twitched. She did not like it when people popped their gum. _Especially_ when she was trying to speak to them.

"And your names?"

"Millie Thompson and Meryl Stryfe," Meryl ground out, trying to ignore the woman's jaw-jacking and her coquettish lipstick.

"What was their name, hun?" The clerk said, her voice high and perky—just the right combination to grate on the petite woman's weary nerves. Meryl gave her another look; the woman had the vacant gaze of one who expected to coast through life despite working at a place where people's lives were at stake nearly every day. Plus, she was younger than Meryl, and in her book that meant she was not, under any circumstances, allowed to call her 'hun'.

Or to be popping that cursed gum.

"We don't really know his name," Millie cut in, sensing Meryl's temper rising, "but he saved our lives, so we'd like to thank him. Is that all right?"

"Can ya describe him?"

"Well, he was tall… a little over six feet, I think. And he's got blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and an earring in his left ear. Oh, and he was wearing a red coat."

"Don't forget that spiky excuse for a hairdo he's got. I think that's pretty memorable."

Millie turned to her right, reflexes tuned to lay down the law if she needed to, but she forced herself to relax as Wolfwood gave a toothy grin, waving his palm in greeting.

"Mr. Priest! You're okay!"

Wolfwood readjusted the cross on his back, which had returned to its mummified state, and leaned against the counter of the desk. "I wouldn't be if it weren't for some unexpected help. Which reminds me, I'd like you two to meet some people."

The man in black now had both of the girls' attention, and he looked towards the entrance to the hospital, raising an eyebrow. He leaned back, then forward, as if a different angle would let him see some invisible specter. "They should be in here by now…"

Right on cue, the glass doors slid open and two girls wearing identical green aprons jogged in. Meryl felt a tickling in her memory banks, and she pointed a finger at them as their identity slid into place for the second time in twelve hours.

"You're those two girls who were selling healing plants!"

"Yes indeed," the blonde one piped, a friendly smile spreading across her face. She was petite like Meryl, with warm brown eyes that said she was very pleased to meet you. Meryl found it oddly easy to like her. "My name's Emma Jayne LeValley, and this is Lynne Wallen, though you probably know her as Gypsy Dragonfly."

The brown haired one scratched the back of her head, hazel orbs meeting gray and blue fleetingly from behind copper-framed glasses. "Um… nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Miss Lynne! I'm Millie Thompson." Millie stuck out a hand and Lynne gave it a brief but firm shake. Meryl did the same after introducing herself, and Wolfwood viewed the scene with an appropriate amount of satisfaction.

"Look, do you want to visit this guy or what?"

Meryl rounded on the clerk, just about ready to let loose with some verbal venom, but Emma beat her to it. She leaned across the surface of the desk so casually any onlookers would have thought that she was reminding the clerk to meet at their usual restaurant for their weekly luncheon. "As a matter of fact, we would. Do you have his room number?"

The clerk leaned back slightly in her chair, slightly shaken by Emma's unaffected and forward response to what was supposed to be a 'zing'. "Yeah… he's in 304…"

"Thanks… hun," she said, winking as she stood up straight and began to stride down the hall. Meryl watched with a hint of admiration for the girl and Lynne chuckled nervously.

"That's EJ for you. We'd better get going, she walks pretty fast when she wants to."

The brown-haired girl took off, and the other three members of their party had no choice but to follow. The five of them managed to crowd into an elevator—which was harder than one would've thought, since Wolfwood's cross took up the space of three people. With a press of a button and a right turn at the end of the hall, they found themselves in front of room 304.

There was a small pause, and the air seemed to become thicker with a mix of tension and anticipation. It was Wolfwood who finally pushed open the door with a tanned, strong hand, and Meryl couldn't help the thankful sigh that rushed out of her.

Vash was sitting up in bed, gazing out the window, his hair relaxed from the spikes he usually kept it in. He was dressed in the white smock that all hospital patients received, and he looked haggard and weary. But he turned to them at the sound of the door opening, and turquoise eyes smiled.

"Hey everyone. Good to see you're all safe."

Wolfwood split into another hearty grin and crossed the room in three long strides, pulling up a chair next to Vash's bed and resting his cross against the wall. "Good to see you're still in one piece, too. How long until you can get out of here?"

Vash placed a hand on his stomach and seemed to be searching his own body for any remaining wounds. "Two more days, maybe. It'll be tricky, but I can probably recover in that time if I really go for it."

The rest of their group had filtered into the room by now; Meryl stood next to Wolfwood, her hands perched on her hips as she attempted to mask her relief with irritation. Millie had grabbed a chair and was sitting on the other side of Meryl, and Lynne and Emma were standing at the foot of Vash's bed.

"I think you owe us an explanation, Vash. Don't think that you can just run away this time," Meryl said, her words coming out softer than she'd intended them.

Vash looked up at her for a moment, then glanced at the two girls at the foot of the bed. "It looks like we've all got some explaining to do. Do you mind starting?"

"Not at all." It was Emma who'd spoken; she moved to the bedside with a soft 'excuse me', and cocked her head at Vash's prone form. Her eyes flickered over the cast on his leg, as well as the various areas that he was bandaged up, but somehow Vash knew that she wasn't looking at the surface appearance.

"You're using your aura very efficiently. I've never seen any psychic heal this fast." She turned her head to gaze right into his eyes. "My name's Emma Jayne LeValley. I'm a psychic, too, though my powers are different from yours. I've just got some second sight and empathy, and I use aura manipulation for healing powers. You've got to be a Prime T & T, maybe even more."

Meryl's breath caught and Millie nodded in understanding. Wolfwood and Vash exchanged a silent glance. Lynne, however, looked quite baffled, and she raised her hand halfheartedly, like she was in school and had to ask the teacher a question.

"Um, Emma? You never did get around to explaining the official classification business…"

The blonde girl turned to Lynne, an uncharacteristically serious expression on her face. "Psychics are categorized by their powers—the most common kind of psychic is a T & T, which stands for telepath and telekinetic. There's a hierarchy of power within the T & T category—the most powerful ones are called Primes. They can move objects they can't even see over tremendous distances, and speak to people from miles away. But…"

Emma cocked her head at Vash, a small smile of admiration playing on her lips. "…His levels of power are totally unheard of."

Vash blushed lightly and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by Emma's claims. "I think you're exaggerating a bit, Miss Emma. I haven't tried telekinesis in a long time, I'm probably really rusty. Even my telepathy isn't that great—I can't hear normal people's thoughts unless they think really hard at me."

"But you can manipulate your aura outside of your body without channeling it through something!" Emma said, her hands waving to emphasize her point. "No psychic in history has been able to do _that_!"

Vash began to fidget with the sheets on his bed, his friendly, slightly dorky persona firmly back in place. "Well… that's not without its faults, either. I have to consume a lot of glucose so I can replace the energy I use and rebuild my aura. I particularly like doughnuts, so…" He grinned sheepishly at Wolfwood, who just rolled his eyes and muttered, "I need a cigarette…"

Then Meryl's voice sounded in the room, quiet and reserved, almost afraid. "And your brother… is he as powerful as you?"

Vash met Meryl's eyes and saw how steeled they were, how hard she was trying to appear professional and calm. But he remembered how she'd trembled at his brother's feet. He didn't blame her. Knives frightened everyone—she'd actually held herself together very well, considering.

He turned his gaze to his lap as he thought on her query.

"Knives… Technically, Knives is no more powerful than I am. But it's how he uses his power…" His fist clenched. "He's utterly ruthless. Mad. He's bent on destroying humanity, and no one except me would be powerful enough to stop him. In that sense, he's much stronger than me. And his servant, Legato—he's no pushover, either."

There was a pause as everyone let Vash's statement sink in. Meryl felt a sinking feeling of uselessness attach itself to her chest, and she gazed absently at the tile floor. What was there to do? How could she possibly hope to face an enemy that powerful when she had no psychic powers of her own?

The silence was surprisingly broken by Lynne, who crossed her arms and looked gravely at Vash.

"Mr. Vash, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to travel with you. I think EJ would, too."

Vash blinked in incredulity and Wolfwood stared at her like she'd sprouted a sunflower out of her head. "Did you not just hear the man? This situation is way too dangerous for ordinary people!"

"Well, I think that's why we should come along. My plants and medicines would come in handy if either of you are injured. They worked well enough for you in the alleyway."

Wolfwood suddenly became very interested in the windowsill and said no more. Lynne turned back to Vash and looked like she was about to further plead her case, but a young boy in a gray uniform entered the room. He had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and a piece of paper was clutched in his right hand.

"Um… I've got a telegram here for a Meryl Stryfe and Millie Thompson? The Bernardelli Insurance Society said I could find you here…"

"We'll take it," Millie said, snatching the paper from his grasp and rooting about in her pockets for money to pay him. She handed him the double dollars with a glowing smile, and the boy flushed a bright pink, stumbling out of the room, suddenly love struck. Wolfwood chuckled at the scene, then turned his attention to Meryl, who had taken the paper from Millie and was reading it almost religiously.

"_What_?!" Meryl shrieked. "They want us to _what_?!"

"What is it?" Vash asked, leaning forward at the urgent pitch in Meryl's voice. The petite girl, who was on the verge of a conniption from the stress of recent events and this new twist, simply shoved the telegram into Vash's hands. The blond gunman read it aloud, only faintly noticing that the rest of the group was hanging onto his every word.

"… The Bernardelli Insurance Society has declared that one Vash the Stampede can no longer be considered an ordinary criminal… he is so destructive that he has been designated as a human natural disaster, and therefore cannot be detained by conventional means… he must be placed under twenty-four hour surveillance… This order will be carried out by the field agents Meryl Stryfe and Millie Thomp…son…"

Vash trailed off, staring at the telegram in his hands, while Wolfwood slapped a hand over his face and groaned. "What, so we're stuck with them, too? My God!"

"We'll try not to get in the way too much, Mr. Priest," Millie said, her expression apologetic, "but orders are orders. Besides, aren't you a non-psychic? Surely Mr. Vash won't mind a couple more people traveling with him…"

"I'm different," Wolfwood almost snarled out. He checked his tone, not wanting to be too harsh with the sweet girl. "I've been hanging around this guy since before he could muster enough heat energy to fake a fever and get out of school."

"It's not like I've got much of a choice, Wolfwood…" Vash said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. "And having Lynne and Emma around would be useful, too. It never hurts to have more people on your side, I guess."

Wolfwood looked at Vash with increasing horror. "You can't be serious. I think you're delirious from blood loss, Vash."

The blond ignored him, sitting up from his ludicrously short period of contemplation. "It's decided, then! You're free to come with us when we set out in a couple of days."

Lynne shared a smile with Emma before inclining her head politely in Vash's direction. "Thank you, Vash. I know you won't regret this. Before you set out on your ordinary course, though, can we make one stop?"

"Sure. I mean, I don't really have a 'course' planned out—Wolfwood and I basically go wherever the wind takes us."

"Oh, good. I'm running low on supplies, too."

Emma clapped her hands together in joy and did a little hop right there in the hospital room. "Yay! So we're stopping at home? We are visiting Dona Esperanza, right?"

"Of course." Lynne gave a modest smirk at Emma's ecstatic behavior. The other four people looked horribly confused, and Lynne decided to interpret for them.

"I just need to stop in our hometown and visit my teacher so I can refill my stores of medicines. It'll only take a day or two if all goes well."

Millie decided not to ask what would happen if all did not go well, having had her share of darkness and doom for the day—scratch that, the week. Instead, she chose a lighter topic. "Oh, what's your hometown?"

Emma answered, her joyous smile widening to remember the city where Lynne and she had spent most of their young lives. "The wonderful city of New Milwaukee!"

* * *

Thanks for sticking with this story as long as you have, and please don't give up hope on me. I've said it before and I'll say it again--no matter how long it takes, I _will_ update eventually. 


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